


Bonita Applebum (On Hiatus)

by Littleredcorvette21



Series: Nothing was the same [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Bad Puns, Bro's mom's a dick, Child Abuse, Dave being a cutie, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Family Problems, Happy times, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Marijuana, Minor Character Death, Physical Abuse, Racism, Sad times, Sadness, Smuppets, anger issues, baby!Dave, death of a character, explicit for later chapters, references to old movies, slight homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-12 04:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2095950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littleredcorvette21/pseuds/Littleredcorvette21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do I love you?<br/> <br/>Do I lust you?</p><p> </p><p>Am I a sinner because I do the two?<br/> </p><p> </p><p>Okay so this story sucks okay, sorry if you liked or whatever but it's true. But It's my first fanfic so I hold it close to my heart. so what I'm going to do is just edit the shit out or it and repost it with three new chapters and everything. so. in short, Please don't read this story as it is now and if you have already. I'm sorry.</p><p>Bro is has a thing for a girl who moves next door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kids in the hall

**Author's Note:**

> Looking for a beta. Drop me a line if you're suited for the task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm new at this so roll with it dude,

Don't hate me.

 

You shot up like a bullet when you first heard it. The loud thud and sharp hiss that stirred you out of a well earned nap on the futon. 

You groan as you checked the time on your clock, squinting sleep blurred eyes at the cherry red 11:35 that shown so brightly.

 

You'd had that dream again.  

 

You grunt in an effort to shake to sleep out of your throat, looking around at the shabby apartment and sighed. You thought it was over.

 

Two months. 

 

That's how long it's been since your father pushed you out the door with your baby bro , Dave in your arms and six years worth of his earnings.

 

Two months since he'd begged you to run.

 

And two months since you've been on your own.

 

You'll never know why they'd done it.

 

Had another baby. 

 

They barely managed to raise you. But ever since your mom got laid off it was all she talked about. 

She drank a lot. 

 

Everyday, Sun up to Sun down, she swam in her bottles

To be honest, most of the time she treated her bottles with more love and care than you.

Cooing and coddling them as if THEY were her her pride and joy. While you rarely got anything besides a sloppy kiss on the cheek when she mistook for your father.

 

If your mother was lacking in the caretaker part of parenthood, she thrived in the punishing department.

It wasn't all that out of the ordinary for you to receive "lesson" by her drunken hands.

 

You remember how she burnt you with her curling iron for trashing her bottle of gin.  
You're almost positive she stayed up some nights just to find new ways to hurt you.

 

And Damn positive she'd spent most of your learning years sitting you in front of the tv while she stayed more inebriated than a has been at an industry event.

 

She was a walking train wreck, your mother.

 

So the day your dad came into your room, and told you; you were going to have a baby brother, you'd almost punched him.

 

"Look, Dirk. This is a big adjustment for all of us."

He'd said as you balled you fist up at him 

You wanted to laugh. Because you knew the only people who'd even be affected was you and him, your dad knew your mom wasn't gonna do shit. But he promised she'd shape up. 

But.

Lo and behold.

All throughout her pregnancy with Dave, your mom drank like a fish. 

Gin and tonic this. Coke and rum that. 

She'd been slam back vodka like water and never once tried to slow down.

 

Not that you'd expect much from her, but you'd dare to hope. 

She hated her life and never missed the chance to remind you.

She'd do anything to be young and on the prowl again. 

 

Anything.

 

Two months since that night that haunts you 

You still remember....everything.

The glassy way she looked at you.

Dave's distressed wailing 

Dad's frantic screaming

And mom's drunk shouts of

"Let me dunk the lil' fucker."

 

Two months since your mom tried to drown your baby brother.

 

It's still etched in your brain.

How your dad dragged you out of bed. How he'd told you to keep Dave safe. How he begged you to forgive her. 

 

And to not hate him.

 

You still haven't gotten use to being on your own.

 

But for Dave you'd try.

 

Speaking of Dave , you hope that noise wasn't him. 

 

Ever since he was able to pull himself upright he's had a knack for making great escapes from his crib. 

 

The kid swears he's Tommy Pickles, and you'd find this cute if I didn't make your heart stop every time you went to check on the lil' man and his crib was as void of him as "one's own peers" in a jury. 

 

This time though, you could delay the cardiac infarction. Dave was asleep. Making a little face as the light from the window streamed into the bedroom with laser focus. You sigh as you look at his pudgy little fists balled up in what only could be described as a baby fighting stance. You smile to yourself as you stroll over to the window and shut the blinds tight against the offending afternoon light.

 

 

You'd love to go back to sleep but that noise peeked your curiosity. If that wasn't Dave, then who was it? Before you could even slip down completely in the neat little chair in the corner of Dave's room to get your nap back on, you heard it again, this time, impossible to mistake as delusion from lack of sleep. THUD! "Ngh. Shit." BANG! "Ugh! Fucktasic!" The impressive display of onomatopoeia and swear words that'd make Richard Pryor faint was coming from the hallway outside of your apartment door. 

Huh, it's been so long since you've heard a noise on this floor you forgot there were other apartments on it. The tenants on this floor either moved out or ran away screaming when they met you.  
You might say I had something to do with you showing a noisy broad in 12B the business end of your katana.

 

 

Hey, if a door is open you just don't stroll in, you never know if your edgy neighbor with a fussy 5 month old was on the other side. 

 

The abandoned floor had worked for you though, All the downstairs neighbors left you alone because they were either scared of you or thought you didn't even exist. it's nice not having to go to tenants association meetings and listen to those old relics preach to you about the noise your 'out of wedlock bastard' made at night. Dave didn't have the patience for them and to be frank, neither do you. You could see yourself punching the soul out of that crotchety hypocritical fuck face in 8H and Dave needs you taking care of him, not in jail fighting to keep your unsullied maidenhead intact. Heh, intact. You unceremoniously toss open your door with all the grace of a drunken 93 year old and get treated to one hell of a sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it's short.


	2. Helpin' out

You're staring

You don't mean to but you are,  
Apon opening your door in a super cool guy stance with some lame speech peppered with irony prepared, you stop cold.  
Words trapped in your throat as you try to swallow unsuccessfully. 

 

If you hadn't know better, you swear there was a self inflating kiddie trapped in your mouth.  
Your hand slips from the door frame and places it's self under your prickly, unshaven chin. You appraise the work of art in front of you.  
Long, wire like muscles flex and bunch in her silken, strong looking calves. Her pretty pecan tan thighs pressed together in obvious strain as her criminally tight fitting shorts gave you a glimpse of what you ached for right about now.

 

Oh my god, Becky look at her butt! That butt could send legions to death with nothing more than a wiggle.  
She was stacked. Like a compact Amazon with hips that could make Wonder Woman jealous.

 

Like a Ihop special, so good you'd proudly order your rooty tooty fresh and fruity as loud as possible if it meant you could take her home. 

 

 

You watched as the beautiful reddish brown curls bounced and bent with her effort. Her thick eyebrows shoved together like kids in the back seat of a mini van. 

 

Her full bottom lip caught between her gap weaving in and out like a sly host working a room at a fancy party. 

 

With grunt of effort that almost sounded manly, you had to stop her. Hell you'd feel personally responsible if she pulled something.  
You clear you throat, as she looks at you, and it feels like the kiddie pool has moved down south. 

 

She stares at you with Calculating, small brown, all too knowing eyes. She opens them slightly though there's not much of a difference in the size you feel your chest give a squeeze and your stomach does a sickening lurch.

 

You clear your throat a second time and stare at her though your boss shades, your slowly crumbling indifferent expression was the only thing that saved you from the sweat glistening on her clavicle. 

 

She corked a interested eyebrow at you, almost daring you to speak.  
Well, you where never one to back down from a challenge. 

"I heard you strugglin' out here, to be honest I think the whole building heard you. I was wonderin' if y'all needed some help. Or an ambulance."

You say as you saunter over to her. She squint at you and her nostrils flair, you swear she look like an disgruntled old cat. Before she takes a deep breath and smiles at you. 

 

"You know what..."

She says and you swear her sounds like home made peanut butter cookies and summer rain.

 

" I could use some help"  
In that moment, you never been so happy to be sleep deprived.


	3. Pissed like me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anita's pov
> 
> Everything will not be okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo
> 
> Yeah i'd love some feed back like a comment or something just let me know if ya like it.

It had been a few days since your loving mother kicked you out the house on the orders of her fiance, Sergeant Tightass.

 

The man never liked you and you'd say the feeling was mutual if you weren't positive that your glaring hated and disgust for him hadn't super ceded his measly dislike. You think it was the constant bickering that finally pushed mom to get rid of you though.

 

"Anita, don't take it personally okay....I just want you guys separate until the wedding...and besides, weren't you planning on moving out any way?"

Yes of course you were!

  You think to yourself as you drive the fancy bribe car your mother had forced you to take so she wouldn't feel bad about tossing you out like yesterday's bad salami.

Not for nothing the damn thing was a tank, and roomy as all hell. It'd only taken you one trip to get your shit out of your mother's house. It's not like you have furniture or nothing, mostly just books and your computer.

      Under any other circumstances, you'd be giddy as hell to be leaving your mom's house, but it was only because HE suggested it that you kicked up such a fuss.

    You'd been so busy replaying your banishment in your head you almost missed the turn off, rolling up your windows as you smell something particularly fowl, you sighed to yourself.

Welp, could be worse, you could be living with your big brother, and Lord knows how well that would work out.....

No you're just turned out to the shittiest part of town Randy the tightass could find.

He and your mother set this up a week ago, buying the damn apartment because that's what rich assholes do.  
So you had to say yes or at least that what your mom told you with pleading eyes.

So, here you are.

Leaning against the shiny monstrosity that's probably killing half the planet by just existing.

   You look up at the high rise and bark out a gruff chuckle. Reaching into your pocket you pull out a heavy fancy  envelope that looked fresh off of old Randy's desk.

You rip that bitch open with more forcethan necessray,hoping for proof that your mother's fiancee was indeed an awful assmunch.  
Not she would even care but hey, worth a shot right?

Anita

I know we've had our differences in the past. But I'm sure, for the sake of your mother. We can finally get on better terms.  You moving out? well look at it as a step in the right direction. Hey, if you're good you might be able to move back in!

Just behave yourself, I know girls like you tend to have bit of a "reputation" and that just won't do in this family, not with me being  head of the household and all.

You're a Hanover now. Anything you do reflects badly on me .  If you go following in your dear old dad's foot steps, why you might end up six feet under too!

I hate to think of the negative press on that.

You're on the top floor. Stop by the tenants office and, enjoying unpacking sweetheart.

Sincerely yours,

Randall D. Hanover.

 

    You muster as much salvia as possible and hock a fat slimy one right into the middle of the fancy letter.

That fucker was going down if it's the last thing you do.

With one last revolted glare you ball up your fancy sputum catcher and toss it in the nearest trash can. ( hey, you maybe be pissed but you're no litterer.)     

  While stomping back to the shiny expensive behemoth, you mutter colorful phrases like  'asshole' and ' die slow' under your breath. Just as you were about to drive right back to your mother's had show that jerk off exactly how you got your 'reputation', You look up at the towering complex.

It was huge, brown, and, according to the description in the for rent ad your mother shoved into your hand while averting her gaze.

It was 1,002 feet 

 

( hmm, you didn't know they stacked shit that high.)

It had a large, rusty sign that had been vandalized to the point where you had to squint to  read what it said originally.  Once you got a good look at what it said you could see why anyone would fuck it up.

 

Hanover &co complex

You let a soft chuckle escape from your chest as you read the fresh spray paint slapped over the sign making it read

Handjob &Cocks  complex

As childish as seemed, you can't stop yourself from bursting out into a ton of gruff chuckles and snorts, your dad always said you sounded like a pit bull choking on a chicken bone when you laughed, you suppose it could be true.

But you can't stop now, has you left the laughter erupt from your chest you chortle at the sound its self.

You felt good, it had been a while since you laugh genuinely, not since.....

 

As abruptly as the slight hysterics came they floated of into echoing of the empty parking lot.

It was weird. Hearing your laughter with out your mother's high pitched squeal and father's deep roar.

It was almost like, listening to a distorted, skipping record of an old song that you never really liked.

Now that it's gone, you kick yourself internally for not enjoying it more.

You're mom is brainwashed by some sick, rich white guy and your dad is six feet under with not one clue as to why.

Shit, if  someone had told you this is where you'd be after high school, you probably would have slapped them.

You sigh again,  You sigh so much more now. Trying as hard as possible to push it all  out of your mind.

You drag the side door of the van open and grab a big, shabby, overstuffed, book bag and  three rolling suit cases the size of steamer trunks.

 

It was almost effortless, using your hatred and unmitigated rage fuel you. Slamming the sliding side door like WWF champ, you march forward to your new home.

        .              .                .

When you finally make it to the lobby, you're not shocked at what you find.

If the outside gave any glimmer of false hope that the entirety of the building wasn't  conveying the sense  of 'eh, it's a place',

You're  sure the inside bashed that glimmer in the back of the head with a sledge hammer.

It was dimly lit and outdated. Like the late sixties up chucked in it. It smelled like pine sol and thirty seven years of shame.  
There was a ragged desk that had obviously seen better days and a dank couch begging for the curb that you wouldn't sit on if someone paid you to.

As you start to look at the suspicious as hell, obviously not up to code elevator and wonder how long it would take you to die in there you hear a terrifying creek, squeak, and groan of old fashioned hinges that reminds you vaguely of an old monster movie.

You look out of your peripheral to seen a tall, balding and pallid man sliding out from behind a door with the words tenants office. In bold, black, chipping letters.

The man looked like everything else here.

Haggard and outdated.

He seem so faded and ghost like, you had look at him fully to make sure too weren't imagining him.

The man looked back at you, something familiar in his gaze but you couldn't quite place it.  
Before you had the chance to even place his face to the image you were thinking of, he spoke.

"What the hell are you looking at, kid?"

His voice sounded like dirty nails on a chalkboard.

" I thought saw my mother's old douche bag, but that's in Ohio."

The man wheeled out a laugh that sounded like it should have killed him.

"You're alright, honey. What brings you here anyway?"

"I'm a new tenant, Anita Thomas."

The greasy old Spector sauntered over to the dilapidated desk and pull out a book that look older than the both of you put together.

" Anita, Anita....hm. The only Anita I have is a Anita...Hanover."

The man looked up at you with a strange glimmer in his eye. You repressed the urge to shudder and focus on his words. 

 

"That's not my name." You say, squaring your shoulders and staring down the desk like it had insulted your ancestors.

"Let me guess, step daddy got you the apartment?" The Super said, looking you up and down pointedly.

"He's not my step father." You correct. 

"He's my mother's fiance, if you can call him that."

You say, trying your best to sound nonchalant.

You fail.

Miserably.

"Hm, well then. I can change it for you if you want. But it's gonna take a hell of a lot of paperwork."

You wrinkle your nose.

"Nah, you don't have to, paperwork and me are enemies until spring."

The old man chuckled

"Well, here's your key. You're in apartment 12J. Here's my number, don't call it, I'm lazy. Unless it's a fire or a murder don't dial my number."

You nod

"Okay doll, see y'all around"

" But....how am I?..."

He was gone. 

 

Damn it.

You sigh breathily and trudge over to the death trap of a lift.

Hitting the up button with more force than necessary and leaning on it for good measure, you hear it groan to life.

You felt watched.

Like the walls were alive.

And they were whispering about you.

You shake the feeling of suspicion as you hear the lift door open.  
Dragging your bags onto the elevator and feeling it jerk with the weight of your stuff.

You prayed it wouldn't drop you to your untimely demise.

It crawled, groaned, and wheezed slowly upwards. Giving you an ever growing sense of foreboding.

It slammed to a stop. The door sluggishly inched open. You looked out onto the hall. Dirty yellowing wall paper greeted you. Also, a sign that said 8th floor in a discolored metal that was slightly dented.

You pulled your phone out your pocket and hurriedly typed in the number old man super gave you.

"Hello, Hanover & co apartments."

"Uhh, Super?"

"Oh it's you, didn't I tell you not call me?"

"But, the elevator is stuck."

"Not my problem kid, you got legs. Stairs are to the left."

You heard a lack of noise on the other end so you assume crotchety old super hung up.

"Ugh, crotchety old bastard."

"Oh, by the way. My name´s Henry. Henry Pauers. Not 'super' or 'crotchety old bastard'."

The dial tone filled the silence.

You drag your stuff up four flights, cursing everything you see.

Which just happened to be stairs.

 

Damn those stairs. Damn them to hell.

As you drag your stuff up the last flight and toss the first suitcase.

You start to wonder if you could hold out any longer.

Between the crap apartment, your traitorous mother, and your developing migraine; you start to contemplate driving back home and wracking that pompous asshole of a step father's Shit.

"Ugh! Dammit!"

You were so caught up in you're existential crisis that you didn't even notice you were being watched.


	4. Meet the Neighbors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyy guys so I'm sorry this chapter is kind lackluster but I've been pretty writer's blocked up so yeah. Leave me some feed back and let me know how much I suck!
> 
> Oh I'm looking for a beta so yeah be tight as fuck if you'd drop me a line if you're interested.

You stop.

No you don't understand.

YOU. STOP.

Breathing, moving, thinking.

You're pretty sure your lungs are screaming for oxygen, but your  
respiratory system have taken a little vacation. Okay a lot of vacation.

Shit it went on sabbatical.

In this very moment, all those warnings your mother use to give you about  
this part of town ,didn't seem like fear mongering anymore.

This feeling.

This tightness in your chest.

The dryness of your mouth

The unrelenting pound of your pulse.

Your senses were on over drive.

You felt that stale air.

Stiff with tension and....

Fear?

Oh. Hm.

You were scared.

That's not good.

You felt your body  even more tense as your heighten hearing pick up the  
soft shift of body movement.

A gruff sleepy sounding cough pulled you slightly into reality.

It's official.

You're scared shitless.

So, you did what you always did when you were scared.

Face the impending danger.

Hey, not like you have much to live for anyway.

You turn, and stop some more, today was not a 'go' day for you and you were  
starting to empathize with  that  rickety  elevator.

You felt like all you gears rusted over, and if you hadn't been able to see  
and stand, you'd think you had passed out.

Looking at your audience didn't ease these feelings whatsoever.

Big.

That was literary the first thing that came to your mind when you took in  
the huge feet and slowly let your eyes creep up past the faded rose gold  
sweat pants that look really tight on his muscular thighs and the the white  
undershirt with a curious looking knife shaped hole in it.

He was white, with a nice tan. A galaxy of freckles covered him like dark  
caramel specks on butterscotch frosting.

He had a neckbeard that was a golden dirty blonde and pink chapped lips  
with dried drool in the corner of them.

He smiled, your stomach lurched.

His teeth, were perfect.

Like on of those guys on a Listerine commercial.

All straight and white, perfectly together like soldiers standing shoulder  
to shoulder.

His nose was slightly crooked a fresh deviated septum, so he fought  
recently.

His eyes.....

Wait, no.

His shades, screamed douchebag all pointy and  black. They were in pristine  
condition despite the fact that their wearer of them seemed to be more of  
the hit first ask later kinda guy.

He shifted his weight a little, obviously uncomfortable with your scrutiny.

Your eyes flick up to see pointy blonde bangs shoved into a gray cap that  
looked as though it had see better days.

Sweat made the hair that wasn't trapped in the gel and cap prison stick  
closely to his forehead, even his side burns were slick with the salty body  
water.

He cleared his throat and dragged you back into reality.

Forced to take in the enormity of the perfect stranger, you did your best  
to make eye contact.

" I heard you strugglin' out here, to be honest I think the whole building  
heard you. I was wonderin' if y'all needed some help. Or an ambulance."

You swallow.

You hadn't expected him to speak yet.

You weren't prepared for the sounds that left his throat.

His voice sand paper like with thick traces of exhaustion was still musical  
in a way.

His accent was thick, It sounded kinda forced. You fought the urge to laugh  
at him and let him know you weren't into Walker Texas Ranger types. But the  
smoothness of it reminded you of falling asleep in a car and suddenly  
waking up in your bed.

Or a worn thick cotton shirt and a snug leather jacket.

You could listen to him on NPR and stay awake.

He wasn't new

In fact he was the exact opposite.

He was like every good memory you ever had dipped in your most fantasic day dreams.

And if there was one thing you needed after this shit day was a dream.

"You know what, i could use some help."

                                          .                         .                             .

And with the shitty life you were having, you could use a guy like that.

Who knows.

He might be a good distraction.

A loud clattering resounding from his apartment and smash the moment to pieces.

"Could you hold on a second?"

"Sure, it's  not i'm going anywhere anytime soon."

"Cool"

**Author's Note:**

> See if you could leave a comment and tell me what you think about this story that be great.


End file.
